


So I Picked On You

by mnemosyne



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Destroy Ending, F/M, Gen, Past Kaidan Alenko/Commander Shepard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 12:33:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mnemosyne/pseuds/mnemosyne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post ME3, Destroy.</p><p>Reapers defeated, Kaidan Alenko starts all over again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There's not much left of Vancouver by the time he gets there, hours after the _Normandy_ limps home, days after Shepard disappears saving the galaxy and peoples from all across it start trying to snap back to their old, personal tensions. 

Technically, he's the ranking officer on the _Normandy_ , has been since Shepard made that stupid, reckless, brilliant, entirely predictable if you thought about it long enough, hero's run, but a fresh faced young woman stepped aboard some time ago, and, in a steely, kindly tone, informed him that he'd been ordered off the ship, to Earth, to London, to where they need his voice in the _so many_ decisions that are needing to be made right now. He'd left with a grasp of Joker's shoulder, and a kiss to Liara's cheek, and a new appreciation of the kingship of Damocles.

There are few ships leaving Earth; too many dead in the streets still to be sorted, identified, cleared away, but of the _Normandy_ crew, it's almost only those from the colonies who remain on board, making repairs, fielding paperwork or trying to get messages out to people they're not sure are still living. Almost everyone with family, like Kaidan, has put in requests for leave on Earth; requests the Alliance has been strangely quick to grant. Kaidan isn't sure whether it's like this all over, _unlikely, very unlikely,_ but he'll take what he can get. More warm bodies helping out in cities, he thinks, and the morale of the the man who may be only remaining human Spectre.

It's only for a flying visit, one day, not two, and limited to a city base, but it's just enough for familial kisses and toasts and tears for the ones who won't be stepping over the threshold of the Alenko family homestead again. Not that what's left of the threshold is much more than a crater-scorch. Yet when he walks down to the bay, there's that same old salt-scent cutting through burnt out ruins, and despite the fatigue that clusters in every joint of his body, he feels _home_ in the gentle press of the waves that wash over his feet.

"You see," says his mother, stepping up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist, "they couldn't take away everything." She kisses his shoulder. "Not my big strong boy either."

He turns, picks her up, laughing away her squeaks of protest. The small woman's feet scrabble at his shins, but he can see her teeth glinting in a wide smile. 

" _I missed you_ , mom," he tells her, and doesn't just mean the invasion. She pushes his nose with hers, her glasses tilting down and tapping plastic against his face; he can feel hot tears running down his cheeks, though who they belong to is less clear.

"I've made your favourite," she says, "come back, kit."

The galaxy is in chaos, and his world is in tatters, but when they leave the beach for their shelter, arms linked and heads bowed together against the rain, his heart is lighter than it has been in years. 

***

It couldn't have lasted forever; it is barely into the next morning when he finds himself, pockets filled with packets of food his mother has somehow managed to create and slip in, making his way back across the Earth, back to the camps and the hastily built constructs housing the remnants of the Alliance and the myriad fleets humanity hasn't found a place for yet. The streets are as full of civilians as they have ever been, but the consumption has been turned on its head; crowds of strangers are carrying brick, stone, vats of food and bottles of water, and slowly, slowly, beginning to believe in a future again.

Hackett's voice rings out over Kaidan's omni-tool every few minutes, requesting his presence at meetings, updating on the fleet, giving out lists of names of people that need to be found and spoken to; he's half-sure that he's heard more of the man since the land back on Earth than he had in all the time he's known him. Kaidan spends most of his day authorising the movement of supplies through the cities and running between dignitaries stranded on Earth's surface.

Towards the evening, he gets a message in carefully neutral language, asking politely for his time. It's signed off with the official signature of the Alliance News Network and the less official _you will be my hero forever - DA_ , and he files it to respond later, when he has a moment free. 

But they find Shepard the day after that, barely breathing in piles of rubble and congealing blood, and for the second time in his life, Kaidan's heart shatters in his chest. 

Garrus message almost doesnt make sense, stops and starts of clinically clipped sentences. She's alive. She's being moved. She _isn't moving._ Kaidan sits in the middle of the road and promises that he'll be at the hospital as soon as he can. His eyes close against the bustle around him. 

Somewhere close by, somebody is shouting, and he can't bring himself to care.

***

Garrus looks like hell, and Kaidan tells him so the moment he arrives. The turian seems smaller amongst the bustle of the hospital, where survivors in mud and ash are still making their way through the doors, are laid out on floors and tables, and anywhere a free surface can be found. It's only after Kaidan sits down beside him that he realises he's never seen his friend look like this, scrambled together casual clothes that hang awkwardly off his frame; Garrus seems to know it, unconsciously tugging the back of his collar around the uppermost edge of his carapace. 

“They won't tell me a damn thing,” Garrus says bitterly, “except that she's alive. I could have told them that days ago.”

“I'd say no news is good news,” Kaidan replies, “but I'd prefer to not sound like an asshole. What do you know?”

“About Shepard? Nothing. But her _mother_ will be arriving tomorrow. She'll be bringing 'the twins'. I hope that means something to you, because I have no idea. And someone named Lydia and her husband are trying to get through the blockades, but they're having trouble getting clearance while we're locked down like this.”

Kaidan's eyebrow raises.

“Never really thought of Shepard as the big family type either,” Garrus says, looking away. “Do you want to pretend to be me? I'll get you a hat with-” a long fingered hand waves vaguely in the direction of Garrus' crests. 

“Not a chance,” Kaidan tells him. “You're the boyfriend.”

They sit in silence for a long time, watching harried people, humans, asari, turians, even a salarian or two scurry across the room. Like ants, Kaidan thinks, but it's not quite right. Ants are more organised, and never pause and close their eyes, pressing palms over closed lids, before regaining their rhythm. 

“You're supposed to tell me she'll be fine,” Garrus remarks after a while. Across the room, a nurse drops a binder of papers and a young asari launches herself forward to help.

“She is the only person I know who has a track record of beating death,” Kaidan offers, “which is more than can be said for either one of us, and _we're_ here.”

The nurse clasps the asari's hand, shaking her head, cheeks red and eyes bright.

“That is true.”

“Did that help?”

“No.”

Kaidan huffs, leans his head back against the rough stone wall. “They've set up kind of a bar next block over. You want to go? They'll call you if anything changes.”

“Sometimes, Kaidan,” Garrus tells him, “you say the sweetest things.”

They wait until the last remnants of sun has gone before they leave. 

Shepard does not open her eyes.

***

The next morning, he wakes up in what is currently passing for his bed, in the quarters the Alliance have arranged for him, with an aching head and a turian curled at his feet. Kaidan yawns and stretches out, checks the time, before prodding Garrus with his big toe. Garrus grumbles and rolls tighter, shifting enough so that his head is resting on Kaidan's ankle before he finally wakes up.

“You snore,” Garrus announces, not moving save for the hand scratching against his jaw, “I hardly slept at all.”

“Your head is cutting off the blood supply to my toes,” Kaidan counters. 

Garrus grumbles, a low, sleep-heavy sound that reverberates through Kaidan's whole body, and sits up. “There aren't any updates,” he says, as Kaidan checks for blood on his foot, “I asked several times. They told me to stop calling.”

“You heading down there now?”

“Yeah,” Garrus pauses. “Look, Kaidan,” his hands twist in the thin bedsheets, “What if she doesn't-”

Kaidan leans over, covers Garrus' hands with one of his own. “She be fine,” he says, and hopes that he sounds more certain than he feels.

“I don't know how you did it.” Garrus' voice is barely a whisper, but Kaidan feels every word like an uppercut. His head begins to throb. 

“She'll be fine,” he repeats. “ _You'll_ be fine.”

They find something to eat before Garrus returns to his vigil, and Kaidan is called into a meeting with admirals he doesn't really want to speak to. It's something about the evacuation of Citadel survivors, and he has no idea what he's supposed to say about any of it. He passes a group of people with Shepard's gold-dark eyes and watches as they hurry off down the road. 

Kaidan has never been the praying sort, but his mouth knows all the movements and if there is a God, then surely he'd be able to hear him anyway.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

He sees her dress before he sees her, lurid pinks and oranges that somehow clash in just the right way, a heady crash of unashamed colour amongst the dust and rubble of a rebuilding city. A dozen faces swivel towards the reporter as she makes her way gracefully through the too-crowded restaurant – or at least, the beginnings of one, makeshift with crates and tables pushed together and unverifiable stews bubbling in pots along one wall - and a light whisper starts to ripple its way through the room. 

In all the things that have changed, there are still screens, large, small, high definition and grainy, that are broadcasting her face, her voice, more so now than ever since the vids that went out from _Her_ ship; fragments of news bulletins and gameshows, repeats of soap operas nobody wants to admit to watching. It's a slice of something that is trying to prove it hasn't changed, and Kaidan is grateful for that.

She smiles wide when she sees him, tilts her head in acknowledgement, before turning away and taking the arm of an older man with a sharp cut wool suit and a freshly healed scar running the length of his jaw. 

Kaidan looks back down to the stack of things he needs to sign, taps out messages to Joker and Dr. Chakwas, and in the tendrils of pain that are beginning to prickle up the back of his neck, forgets all about Diana Allers and unresponded messages in his inbox.

***

He sees Diana again at the hospital that afternoon, her arms laden with papers and battered datapads, and they do not stop to chat. She squeezes his hand with two free fingers, kisses his cheek, and tells him to look after Vakarian. Her voice is warm, a low whisper he barely recognises from her time on the _Normandy._

“Let's have coffee,” she says, easy words of a time past, “I could do with someone to talk to. I guess I'm not used to civilians anymore.”

Her perfume melts in the air when she leaves, the doors swinging on their hinges, creaking disrepair in small, jagged arcs, and it's only after the they close fully behind her that he remembers that there isn't anywhere to go. With a shake of his head, he starts towards an unmistakeable family group huddled near the back of the room.

Shepard's mother is smaller than he thought she'd be, but there's the same sense of steel through cotton as her daughter and when he takes her hand she makes a little “hmm” noise in the back of her throat, eyes narrowed and appraising; Garrus shrugs from behind her when he hears it, and Kaidan's not quite sure he's ever seen a turian look so determinedly innocent when Hannah turns back towards him. 

“It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am,” he gets out, before a bespectacled, loose-limbed young man with Shepard's mouth twisted into an unfamiliarly easy smile claps him on the back and introduces himself as “Jaime, probably our kitten never mentioned me.” He makes a face at his mother, and waves a hand towards the young woman sitting cross-legged next to Garrus, hair shaved close to the scalp, and a large baggy sweater hanging halfway off her shoulder, revealing a flash of greying bandage. “Emma.” 

The news is good, for what it is. Shepard is stable, whatever stable means, and Kaidan tries not to think about two years lost on a Cerberus operating table. Garrus still looks like somebody ran over him with a hovercar full of krogan, but Emma is chattering away about rifles and sharpshooters and Garrus' mandibles flex with frustration as he begins to argue a point with her.

She winks at Kaidan when Garrus looks away briefly, and he cannot help but smile in return. 

He leaves Garrus with the Shepards, and for the first time in a long time, eats his dinner alone. His datapad bleeps halfway through his meal, and in the lack of company, there's nothing to stop him from opening the message.

_I've got a proposition for you. Buzz me when you're free. - DA_

***

“If I stay like this any longer, my neck is going to break,” Diana says. They're sitting on a low wall under trees in St James' Park, and from here, if you look at a very careful angle, Kaidan points out to her, it's almost like nothing's ever happened. Diana is leaning in, copying the tilt of his head. “I'd hate to have lived through the Reaper invasion only to be done in by a serious crick in the neck.” 

“It'd be a bit of an anti-climax,” Kaidan agrees. He takes a sip of the beer she's brought him, _the bribe_ , she called it, before warning him not to mention it to anyone. 

Theoretically, she's supposed to be doing a profile, some kind of biography in preperation for a hero's chronicle if Shepard lives or a eulogy if she doesn't. Diana description of the project hasn't put it in quite those terms, but when Kaidan does it for her, she doesn't deny it. She's been in demand ever since they returned, she says, everyone looking for an inside scoop she's refusing to give them, and she'll be damned if anyone's going to produce a story on _her_ Shepard without her. She owes the commander that much. “We'll get started in a minute,” she promised fifteen minutes ago, sometime before producing the bottle opener. 

“How's Shepard doing?” Diana asks eventually, making no move to switch on her recording devices. Kaidan shakes his head.

“Nothing,” he replies.

“But nothing bad either,” she says, pointing at him with the neck of her beer. “And Garrus?”

“Better, I think. Talking more to the Primarch, and that's good for him. Work gives him something else to worry about, you know?”

“That's a fact,” Diana replies, slightly too cheerily; she's been fielding messages from well-wishers on Garrus' behalf, Kaidan knows, and he doesn't want to think about how many of those there have been. “There are a lot of people waiting on Shepard,” she adds. “I don't think we're ready to canonise her yet.”

“She'd hate that anyway.”

The sun is warm outside of the shade, and Diana stretches her legs out, delicate feet encased in bright pink sandals. Kaidan waves his hand at them.

“You got access back to your entire wardrobe?” 

Diana snorts. “Not even slightly. Most of my wardrobe is travelling out amongst the stars. But my producers find it much easier to sell the face when the face is backed up by something designer.”

“Seems like a great meritocracy, the Alliance News Network.”

There is a long silence. Diana sighs, breathing out through pursed lips, and she affixes Kaidan with a thoughtful stare.

“And the Alliance _military_ rewards on achievement alone, right?” she says at last, “You don't think I know how _your_ network functions? Or do your ancient names never get sent out to speak to the common man?” Her eyes flash bright. “Besides, this is what people expect of me. What kind of message would I be sending if I started dressing down now. We beat the Reapers, and _now_ is the time to give up colour? We _need_ normality and this,” her hand sweeps down over her outfit, “ _this_ is normality _.”_

“It's something.”

“I was on the same ship you were,” Diana replies. “I wouldn't be quite so quick to forget that, major.” 

“Huh,” says Kaidan. 

Her hand snakes out, flips a small switch on a clunky white box. When she looks back at Kaidan, there's a tight smile on her lips and a challenge in her eyes. 

“So, Major Alenko,” she begins, “Tell me about the SR-1.”


	3. Chapter 3

 “Not meaning any offense, sir, but this place is a right shit-hole.”

Kaidan cracks an eye open and tries to make sense of the noise. And the blurry shape that's currently poking at something on the wall.

“I'd have thought that the Alliance would spring for something better than this.”

_Donnelly._

“What are you doing here?” Kaidan asks. The Donnelly-shape stops whatever it is doing.

“I'm going to assume that vague growling was a polite enquiry as to my being here,” it says cheerily, “I've been sent. I did bring you coffee.”

It's the smell, more than the morning person that rouses Kaidan finally. He glances at a clock, _7:30am_. He's been asleep for four hours. A hot cup is pressed into his hand and he can feel his bed dip violently as Donnelly throws himself down on it.

“I'm sorry to wake you so early,” he says, not sounding in the least bit apologetic. Kaidan attempts to assume an air of politeness, but he can see Donnelly's whole body flinch at his expression. “There's been a bit of an incident.”

That sends Kaidan sitting bolt upright, a wave of hot coffee splashing over his upper body. “ _Fuck.”_

“That wasn't the most suave move I've seen you pull.” Donnelly starts tapping at Kaidan's torso with a corner of the bedsheet. “Don't worry,” he continues before Kaidan can start demanding details, “the _Normandy_ hasn't blown up-”

“Is it Shepard?” Kaidan interrupts. He barely registers the stilling of Donnelly's hand against his chest. The engineer sucks a breath in through his teeth, and shakes his head.

“No, sir. No change there. I'm sorry. We're all waiting.” He takes his hand back, rubbing the heel of his palm against the back of his head. “It's Joker. They want to start running tests on EDI. See what actually happened.“

_Crap._

“Who does?”

“Hackett. The higher ups. Someone with more clout than me.”

“So why are you here? What do they need me for?”

“ _I_ ,” says Donnelly, standing up, “am here because I – huh, I never pegged you for the _commando_ type, sir – was in the area. There's a thing. Ex-Cerberus personnel.” He shrugs, busies himself by straightening out a few items by the washbasin. Kaidan hastily locates the pants tossed down the side of the bed. “I was in the area,” he repeats, “but with the Commander out of action, they want you to arbitrate. Congratulations.”

“Tell Joker he should give up his girlfriend's body for strangers to run tests on,” Kaidan groans, stretching; a series of loud pops that prompts a sympathetic grimace from the younger man, “Yeah, that's not going to go down well.”

Donnelly shrugs again. “Either way, I'd suggest you get down to the breeze block pretty quick.” His head tilts, and one eye closes as he looks towards Kaidan. “And put a shirt on, eh?” 

***

Halfway down the stairs, they almost collide with a figure clattering up. Donnelly's hand shoots out to catch hold of a flailing arm as a heel is trapped in a bit of uneven floorboard.

“Thank God for you!” Diana announces breathlessly, righting herself. Donnelly looks like all his Christmases have come at once. “These stupid stairs. Wait, _Kenneth_?”

“Ken,” says Donnelly. “Are you all right, Ms. Allers?”

Diana smiles at him, a wide beaming grin, too friendly, too familiar to be truthful. “Perfectly. What are you doing here?” Her free hand touches Kaidan's arm. “Alenko.”

“He had a thing,” Kaidan tells her; he nods his head towards Donnelly, who obediently starts trotting down the staircase, though not before waggling his eyebrows in a manner Kaidan isn't entirely convinced of the meaning of, but he's fairly sure it's meant to be somehow indecent. The wide corners of Diana's smile disappear with each step the engineer makes from them. “And I've got to go to a – uh, _sorry_ , we had an appointment, didn't we?”

From the step above her, Kaidan can see blonde roots through the red of her hair. Diana coughs slightly when she catches his gaze. “Yeah,” she says, as her fingers twist in the front strands, “I mean, yes, we did. I have _many_ questions. But if you've got a 'thing'...”

“We can walk,” Kaidan offers, lips pulled into an apologetic grimace. “And then maybe lunch?” The pair of them begin the descent. “No wait, I'm going to see Shepard.”

“Lunch,” Diana replies. “So am I. I made a promise to a turian.”

***

“You have got to be kidding,” Holo!Joker's arms are crossed, and Kaidan's pretty sure he's tapping his foot out of sight. Hackett's close to, his eyes are narrowed and the pilot has been fixed with the full force of his glare. To Joker's credit, he's not even blinking.

“Lieutenant-”

“You. Can't. Have. Her.” There's an unfamiliar curl in Joker's lip as he speaks, every word coloured with venomous determination.

“Please, be reasonable.” 

The air in the room is thick, heavy with choking stalemate. Admiral Daro'Xen moves, makes some kind of murmur that registers through her speech translator as a low growl. That the quarian is there at all makes Kaidan tense; an internal Alliance spat he knows he can deal with but diplomatic incidents across the races? That's Shepard's arena. That's not him. He tugs his ear slightly between thumb and forefinger, stands up straighter than he has during this long argument.

“Uh, Admiral?” 

“Alenko. Are you able to convince him?”

“With all due respect, Admiral. I agree with Joker.”

That throws them, Kaidan notices, as he pointedly doesn't wince under the full attention of everyone in the room. Hackett's scowl grows deeper, and whatever Daro'Xen is doing behind her mask, he's willing to make a bet that it's something similar. 

“Major Alenko,” she begins, stepping towards him, “studying the bodies of the Geth can only be one part of the effect. EDI was one of a kind, the information we could get from it-”

“ _Her,_ ” Joker interrupts, through clenched teeth.

“I appreciate that,” and Kaidan crosses his own arms, staring back at Hackett, “but she was a member of our _crew_.” His head feels a thump against a metallic hull, and the stinging smell of blood and burning plastics. He takes a breath and tries not to taste hospital antiseptics on his tongue. “We're barely home, admiral. We should be burying our dead.”

EDI's body, he knows, has been lying in the Med-Bay since the explosion; nobody knows quite what to do with her. Many of the dead have been dealt with already, in overflowing graveyards, in coffins shot through space, in flames and in water, but nobody yet has offered a solution for EDI. Joker refuses to talk about it when asked, and so her body remains on the _Normandy_ , where Chakwas has it covered with a sheet and a whispered prayer.

_Nobody notices it happen for a moment, the_ Normandy _continues on its trajectory, Joker focused on getting them as far away from the Citadel as possible_. _But then the lights flicker and the ship judders and somebody in the cockpit lets out a gutteral scream as EDI slumps backwards in her seat._ _Afterwards, nobody will be able to remember who._

“ _EDI?” Kaidan asks, hand on her shoulder. Joker has not turned, is focused on the sudden lurch of his ship._

_EDI does not respond._

_The lights on the_ Normandy _start going out, and a ripple of apprehension starts building through the crew deck._

“ _Hold on,” Joker says, grimly. “Literally. This is going to be rough.”_

“I'm sorry, sir, ma'am,” Kaidan says aloud, “but if anyone's her next of kin, it's Flight Lieutenant Moreau. It's up to him.”

“You can't have her,” Joker says again, quickly. This time, Hackett does not argue.

***

“Sounds rough,” Diana says through a mouthful of ice cream. Kaidan pulls a face, and she smiles, a touch of vanilla still on her lower lip. Her tongue snakes out to chase it away. “And since that's the edited version, I'm guessing it was even worse inside. “

“Is that a leading question?” Kaidan asks. His feet are tucked up in the windowsill of a bured out office building. It's still damp from the morning rain, but warm now the sun has decided to show itself, burning away the last remnants of stormcloud from the sky. Diana is perched on a low wall, her cameras from their earlier interview lying dormant on the brickwork. It would have been outside, once upon a time, but there's no roof left, no full walls anywhere, just corners and angles that are trying to remember they once held a shape together. He grins as Diana shakes her head.

“I'm not even bugged,” she tells him, conspiratorily. “This is just lunch.”

“It's ice cream.”

Diana snorts, and he would never even have believed her capable of making such a sound if she hadn't just done it in front of him. “It is the _best kind of lunch_ , Alenko. You don't approve? I'll have yours.”

Her hand reaches out, and Kaidan snatches his tub close to his chest. “Nice try,” he tells her. “But no deal.”

“See,” says Diana. “The best lunch.”

“You know, I'm not actually convinced that this really is ice cream.”

Diana shrugs and smiles, digs her spoon into the not-ice cream and holds it up to the light. Somewhere behind her, a Salarian in white and grey leans against the hospital doorway and takes a long drag of a cigarette; Emma Shepard stands beside him, hand outstretched for her turn. 

“It's close enough,” Diana says. 


	4. Chapter 4

It's October, and black, greasy clouds hang over London, periodically bursting with hard sheets of rain. Kaidan presses himself back against the wall, stares out at the water that should be cleansing the streets, but only seems to be swirling thick pastes of building dust and death around broken tar. The high collar of his dress blues is already heavy with wet, clinging and choking. He runs a finger around it, breaking the seal of rainwater, and shivers. He hadn't expected this change.

“Everything we've been through,” comes a voice nearby, “and I've still found a Canadian caught out by London weather.” Diana's voice is light, and she lifts the arm that's holding an umbrella. “Aren't you from B.C., Alenko? Surely you should be used to this.”

Kaidan steps down, ducking under the umbrella to join her, trying not to drip as much as he surely is. “I thought I'd be able to make it,” he says, “and I left my coat on a shuttle.”

“Men are hopeless,” Diana replies. The crook of her arm extends a little, and Kaidan slips his hand through it, grateful for the warmth of her body. “We're going to the same place, aren't we? I'll be the knight in shining armour today.”

“My hero,” says Kaidan, kissing her cheek.

It's right that it's raining, Kaidan thinks. It's the day of the memorial service, a remembrance of those who fell, and those still falling. They've avoided calling it a memorial in the notices that have gone round though, used “appreciation”, “acknowledgement” and any manner of phrases that suggest it is for the living as hope, and not the dead as an apology. 

They walk through the streets arm in arm, not talking. There's too much that can be said, and none of it seems appropriate to bring up today. The hem of Diana's grey dress hangs low to the ground, not quite dragging in the filth of the road, and with every step grows darker and darker with the rain. 

“We'll be a sorry sight,” Kaidan observes. Diana tightens her arm around his. 

“There'll be a lot of that, I think,” she tells him.

There's a low, tense hum of noise from the crowd at the ceremony, peoples of all races huddling together against the chilled breeze. Diana detaches herself somewhere near the front, joins a small news crew that raise the cover of a tarpaulined seat so she can sit in the dry, and Kaidan walks up to the seat on the dais alone. 

He joins the line of admirals, captains, turian and krogan and salarians and asari and human, and looks out over the gathered crowd. Wrex nods to him in greeting, Garrus touches his hand to Kaidan's back and looks like he'd rather be anywhere else than the middle of this amount of focused attention.

Unlike the both of them, Kaidan not been asked to speak, and he's grateful for that. Words of condolence stick to the back of his throat, and words of hope still sometimes feel like lies. He scans for faces he recognises while the admirals begin their speeches; spies a couple of his students, heads resting against each other, and Jack, determinedly ignoring the weather, standing just behind them. He does not recognise the woman who stands beside her, but there is no mistaking the rough familiarity with which Jack tousles her hair as the she lets out a choked sob.

Wrex's speech is short, and more eloquent than Kaidan would have expected. The krogan's slams his fist into his palm when he speaks, every sentence wrought in cast-iron. There is almost applause when he finishes, a spark of something they have all needed skipping through the crowd. There is no silence; there can't be, not with this many trampling down the grasses of the park, but the tone is shifting, something warmer, something needed.

At her position in the front row, Kaidan can see Diana hastily tapping something down on a datapad and using her free hand to adjust a setting on a camera that looks backwards over the collected faces. She glances up to check the small screen, frowning in concentration. For a brief moment, he cannot help but wonder how much of this war she's lived and relived through that small vidscreen. 

It's Garrus' voice that interrupts his thoughts; he's too calm, and somehow so much younger than he's ever sounded before. With a start, Kaidan realises that he doesn't actually know how old Garrus is, and so he stares at the turian, whose face belies the blood he's seen, even in the unscarred side, and listens as he reads off the names of the turian dead, in a hollow, determined tone. 

They were never going to be able to pretend this wasn't a memorial, Kaidan thinks, no matter how much they tried to talk about the coming together of the races. 

Almost as soon as it is over, something bleeps, and a message shoots up from Joker.

_At least you got to break out the fancy duds._

Kaidan smiles a little.

_Some of us can't turn up for work without our pants on. People can see us. - K_

_That was_ one time, _Alenko._

And then, half a moment later.

_Give Garrus a hug or something. He looks like shit._

_Will do. - K_

He doesn't, quite, but he does hand over a bottle of turian brandy and let Wrex tug Garrus away by the arm, almost gentle by Krogan standards. Garrus lets himself be taken with only a token protest, and a warning that if anything explodes, it is already _definitely_ going to be Wrex's fault.

***

Shepard wakes up three days after the service, and Kaidan isn't there to greet her. He's off-world, _of course he's off world_ , for the first time since they got back, locked in a small room on a quarian liveship and trying not to lose his temper.

It's only when he walks out of a meeting, fingers flexing and head pounding, that he finds there are seven messages on his omni-tool, three left with the quarian communications specialist, and Liara's voice ringing out loud from one of the comm panels, demanding _somebody patch her through to the major this instant._

He doesn't need a translator to understand the low whistle of relief through the quarian's suit when he taps in.

“How quickly can you get back to Earth?” Liara asks. Blood rushes in Kaidan's ears, and he looks down at her with a helpless shake of his head.

“I can't,” he says. “I need to finish-”

She snaps the feed off without answering. Someone's hand squeezes Kaidan's arm and all he can think about is the rationing of dextro food sources for the remnants of the Migrant Fleet.

“We can take a break,” says Daro'Xen, and somehow he can feel the concern that radiates from her voice in his every fibre. “I'm sure we have some human coffee somewhere.”

They don't, but in the noise that buzzes behind Kaidan's eyes, it's a minor thing.

***

He emails Diana to let her know. She sends him back a medical report that tells him almost nothing, and a reassurance that Shepard is looking as well as can be expected. He isn't sure what that means, and when he tries to call, gets only a pre-recorded apology. He lets it play through twice and doesn't try again.

When he wakes up the next morning, she has sent him several pages of notes and forwarded a message from Garrus telling him to get himself down there as soon as he possibly can. _Take care of yourself_ , she signs off, _this is only going to be the beginning_.

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

There are still deep scars through the city the next spring, but everywhere, through broken pavements and between tumbled walls, are splashes of green, threads of life pushing through the cracked earth. Shepard's walking now, with a cane and a muttered curse, but walking and talking and standing and _living_ and it still feels a little bit unreal. 

Kaidan remembers what she looked like when he finally got into see her, lids and lips still red-purple, swollen. But she'd almost smiled when he'd said hello, lifted a finger in greeting.

“ _He told me I looked like hell,” Garrus says, “maybe he'll be nicer to you.”_

“ _Better be,” Shepard manages to croak out, sandpaper-rough over the vowels. “Or I'll fight him.”_

“ _That's what, thirty seconds I'm here and you're threatening violence, Shepard?” Her finger is warm where Kaidan is stroking it gently with his own, and he watches her carefully, not convinced that even that small movement won't hurt her._

“ _Don't flatter yourself. She already tried to beat up one of the doctors.”_

“ _I thought he was a reaper,” Shepard says, with an affected sulk. “I hit my head. You can't be mad at me.”_

“ _You get a free pass,” Garrus promises, then brushes his hand over her hair. “For a month. The galaxy's price for its salvation.”_

_The sound she makes then couldn't be called a laugh outside of Kaidan's worst nightmares, but somehow it comforts and relaxes and fills him with unashamed joy; he can feel himself start to tremble._

“ _It's ok,” murmurs Shepard, “you don't get rid of me that_ easy _, Alenko.”_

_It's Garrus who catches hold of him, and directs him to sit down next to the bed. The turian kneels, gentle concern tracing itself through the scarring on his face, one hand resting on Kaidan's shoulder._

_And it's Kaidan's turn to laugh, to cover his face with his palms and laugh and laugh and laugh until the world is nothing more than a dizzying blur around him._

***

There's a dinner. A celebration. A screening of the biography Allers has been working on all this time. And there's also a small part of Kaidan that still cannot quite believe that they hadn't made a eulogy, so now he can't help but catch his breath as he watches Shepard take her seat, Garrus at her back, where he, if Kaidan wanted to admit it, has always been. She's still too thin, and scars, thick and shining pink, to faded browns, mottle her skin, snaking around her shoulders and under the ruffled black of her neckline. But she's smiling, a wide, burning, beam of _alive._ As far as Kaidan's concerned, she has never looked more beautiful.

The room is full of the people whose names and needs he has learned by heart over the last few months, tables full of survivors and stories. Liara sits off by herself slightly, her eyes already red, but the curve of her lips follows Shepard's movements as she runs a hand gently over the side of Garrus' face. When she catches Kaidan's eye, her face crinkles with apology, and he shakes his head. _It is forgotten._

 _This_ is the celebration, Kaidan thinks, and the memorial both. The beginning that couldn't begin with Shepard lying in a ward, hooked up to machines. The world had needed their knight or their martyr; they had not known what to do with a hero who was both. 

Only Joker is absent, a terse message of well-wishing left on Kaidan's omni-tool the only acknowledgement he'd received that Joker knew this night was happening at all. Kaidan hasn't asked; there's something behind the words that spikes at inquiry and he doesn't know which of them will bleed if he tries. 

***

Dinner is a lavish affair, wines and meats and oranges and apples and cheeses and it's almost too much; Shepard picks at her food, tiny slices that barely pass lips that must still be cracked under the coal-black of her lipstick before they are placed back on her plate. Garrus' head leans close to hers, mouth moving in constant whispers that she closes her eyes to listen to. She wrinkles her nose at Kaidan across the table and during the speeches, the three of them take drinks at a bingo card of phrases they haven't agreed on, but all know by heart anyway.

Afterwards, when the tables are cleared, and the rounds and rounds of handshaking has finished, Shepard leans against Kaidan in the cooling breeze of a nearby window and lets out a low whistle between her teeth.

“So. How does it feel to be a living legend?” Kaidan asks, and, for all that she's still mostly held together with plaster and pigheadedness, receives a sharp poke to the ribs.

“Mostly foggy,” Shepard replies, eyes twinkling, “Not sure if that's from the pain or the drugs.”

“I'm sorry,” says Kaidan, for lack of anything else to say. Shepard presses his wrist with her fingers, straightening as Garrus returns to them, and Kaidan is surprised to see Khalisah al-Jilani on his arm. He can hear her heart beating from where he's standing.

“I'm _living_ , Kaidan” Shepard says, and holds out one hand to the reporter, “I don't need to be a legend to feel good about that.”

And Shepard leaves him again, not quite lost in a crowd that all want to touch her, talk to her. Kaidan sits back against the window and just watches, tries his best to fade from view. 

Through the next doorway, removed from the thick of the party, there is a familiar figure in yellow and gold, speaking into a camera that floats just above her head. Diana's already had her interview with Shepard, the backdrop of her own life playing behind them, but her coverage is evidently not yet quite finished. As Kaidan watches, the camera sweeps into the main room, gently buzzes in wide circles over the crowd, before returning to Diana to be deactivated. When it does, he can see her shoulders slump, watches as she steps back into shadows.

“Get everything you need?” He asks, walking over once he's sure the camera's no longer on. She jumps at his arrival, focused as she is on packing away some small piece of equipment into the clutch bag she's holding tightly to. 

“I hope so,” she says, and does not manage to hide her yawn, “if not, I'm sure I can think of something. I'm _done_.”

Kaidan leans backwards to snatch a glass of wine from a nearby table and holds it out to her; she takes it with a grateful moan.

“This,” Diana tells him, “is my first of the evening. Can you believe it?”

He's about to say that he can't, but she finishes the glass in a couple of gulps and the words are stilled in his throat. 

“I guess it's not that hard,” Diana allows. There are bags under her eyes and callouses on her hands; Kaidan catches hold of one, turning the palm up as he removes the glass from her fingers. His thumb rubs lightly across what looks like a fading burn.

“Looks painful.”

“You think I have engineers wherever I go, Alenko?” she says, chidingly, “most have better things to deal with than a faulty camera casing.” 

“You didn't get it looked at?”

“Little thing like this?” Diana's fingers curl but she makes no attempt to pull away, “I'm fairly sure the doctors also have better things to worry about.” He follows her gaze, over to where Shepard sits, a white-knuckled grip on a grey metal cane. “Don't you fret,” she adds, “I ran it under cold water and everything. Almost like a real person.”

He can feel her pulse under his fingers, and softly, steps backwards, just around the curve of a pillar. The party disappears behind them. His hand is loose on her wrist as she moves with him, and the hem of her dress brushes over his shoe

“Almost,” she repeats, a curious expression flickering across her face, and rises on the balls of her feet.

Her lips are soft, sticky with gloss, and before he has a chance to think about what they're doing, she breaks away with an embarrassed giggle. 

"That's not a great look on you," she says, running a thumb over the smear of glittering pink under the curve of his lower lip; her tone is light, but her eyes flicker down and he can see her teeth tugging against the tip of her tongue. Kaidan grins, can feel something click in his head, and a tension start to unwind. He holds Diana closer with the arm that's curved around her waist; the beads of her dress catch on his palm, his fingertips resting on her skin. 

"I don't know," he replies, resting his forehead against hers, and her eyes turn slowly back towards him, "you really don't think I can work it?"

She laughs then, he can feel her body shake as it's pressed up against him; and, though her gaze flickers across, warily watchful for any onlookers, her hand moves, gently, curling around the back of his neck as she pulls him back down to meet her.

***

He sends Diana emails with attachments of edited reports, relief efforts, calls for volunteers to hospitals, building projects, soup kitchens, communications runners and reminders to take a break. She sends back names and and streets, and holos of families dancing in newly built doorways.

 _I think we're going to make it_ , she writes.

He closes out of the message and falls asleep as the sun starts to rise.


End file.
